


All Talk, No Action

by caliecat



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Humor, Kink Meme, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Sexual Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-26
Updated: 2011-06-26
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:49:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliecat/pseuds/caliecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three hours into an eight-hour stakeout and Danny won't shut up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Talk, No Action

Three hours into an eight-hour stakeout and Danny won't shut up.

First it was Grace and the straight A's she got on her report card. Fine, Steve's on board with that, she's a great kid and he's genuinely proud and happy for her. That led to a long story about Danny's sister who won a prize last week in some local art competition—watercolors or oils or photographs, Steve lost track years ago when this conversation first started—and that in turn expanded into an lengthy account of the varied and endless talents running through the Williams family tree and the absolute superiority of their gene pool.

Steve nods here and there, wishing he could close his eyes and nap but their suspect is notorious for his night-time operations and they have to keep a close watch on the guy's property if they have any hope of ever collecting useable evidence. Besides, he and Danny are both still wired from their big bust today and that along with all the coffee they've been guzzling makes it hard to relax, let alone sleep.

And so he sits in the driver's seat of the Camaro, scanning out the windshield for signs of movement while Danny drones on, his thoughts drifting to tomorrow's surf report, the replacement parts he needs for the Marquis, what to get Mary for her birthday—

"—first time. Steve? Steve!"

"Yes, Danny." He sighs, stretches his legs as best he can under the dashboard, shifts around to relieve the cramp in his lower back and warily glances to his right. Danny's frowning at him with his usual air of angry impatience.

"My first time. Did you hear a word I said?"

"Sorry, I wasn't...I was calculating the best angle for us to take the back of the house if it comes to that. Why don't you tell me again?" _Because I don't want to hear it,_ he adds silently, but Danny wouldn't care anyway.

Danny stabs an accusing finger at him. "You're a bad listener, you know that?"

"So I've been told." Maybe if he agrees Danny will stop. Or at least they can avoid another argument.

"Okay." Danny huffs and settles back. "So, as I was saying, Mindy Bauman, Senior Prom, Asbury Park, under the boardwalk."

"Like the song," he says, just to prove he's listening.

"Exactly!" Danny's face lights up and he sings a few lines from the original Drifter's version; sotto-voice, doo-wop style, funny and charming and completely off-key.

"Stop, you're killing me here." He laughs at Danny's comical mock-hurt expression, then motions for him to continue. "So what happened?"

"So." Danny turns in his seat to face Steve, hands flying as he talks. "So the six of us pile into Dave Morelli's car—he's older so he's got his license—and head out after the prom ends for the beach. Kind of a tradition where I grew up, you know?"

"Sure." He wonders if any of young Danny-the-future-cop's friend's were drinking but decides not to ask. Why start trouble?

"We get there, grab our things from the trunk, we'd already changed out of our prom clothes at the diner—"

"Diner?"

Danny stops mid-sentence, incredulous. "Yes, Steven, the diner. I already explained this to you. Everyone goes to the diner after the prom for pancakes and eggs and Taylor Ham. Don't you know anything?"

"Guess not." It's important not to interrupt Danny when he gets like this. He'll wind down eventually.

"Where was I? Yeah, so we get to the beach, hang out for a while, and then we split up and I take Mindy to this special spot I know under the end of the boardwalk. We were going steady by then and man, you should have seen her. Gorgeous blue eyes, dark curly hair, curves in all the right places, long legs, really tall—taller than me by a few inches, but I didn't mind—smart, funny—"

"Sounds great."

"Believe me, she was. A Jewish Marcia Brady."

"Right." Marcia Brady? He vaguely remembers the name from some TV show Mary watched, back when he had a family of his own. Probably not important anyway. "So what was she doing with you?"

"Very funny. I'll have you know I was considered quite a catch back then."

"No doubt."

And maybe he was. Steve takes a closer look at Danny as he is now and can easily picture him at seventeen; same cocky expression and warm smile, same ridiculous hair, same compact, muscular body, same furry blond curls covering his chest, trailing down to his stomach and past—

 _What the hell?_

Clearly the lack of sleep is affecting his concentration. He rubs a hand over his face, takes a deep breath and refocuses on Danny's low, soothing voice.

"—touching, then she tells me she doesn't want to go to college still a virgin and that's all I need to hear. I spread the sheet over the sand, pull her down next to me, it's just the two of us tucked way back where no one can see us, and I untie her bikini top while she's planting kisses all over my face and neck and chest, telling me she wants me to be her first then she's tearing at the drawstring on my board shorts like there's no tomorrow and why are you doing that?"

Steve freezes with his left hand on the control button. A damp, chilly breeze blows through the lowered window. "Getting air in here. It's stuffy."

In fact he can hardly breathe, all the oxygen's been sucked out of the car and sweat's trickling down the back of his neck and pooling in a sticky mess on his back and his polo shirt is sticking to him, cold and clammy against his skin and his pants are so tight they're practically strangling him.

"Are you an idiot? We're on a _stakeout_ , which means no one is supposed to know we're here so close that window and let me finish the story you claimed you wanted to hear."

"Fine," he bites out and hits the button to send the window back up. He locks his gaze on the suspect's house again, not certain what his face is showing but sure he doesn't want Crack Detective Williams to see it.

Danny picks up the story again but his voice is deeper now, throatier and more intimate and it's making Steve's head spin.

"Where was I? Oh yeah, okay, so finally we're both undressed and it's amazing, you know, I'm mean she's beautiful but she's looking at me like I'm God's gift or something and that's flattering as hell, believe me, then she's rubbing her hands down my chest and over my abs and by this time I'm hard as a rock and then she's actually _touching_ me and _now_ what's wrong?"

"What?" His stomach is churning with guilt and worry and something else and he's afraid he might throw up any minute. Or worse.

And Danny's scowling again. "You're all flushed and sweaty. Are you sick? Because if you are you should have said something before we left instead of—"

"I'm fine! I told you, it's hot." He yanks at his collar in an unsuccessful attempt to get more air.

Danny snorts. "Hot! You went on and on all day about this weird weather and how cold it is for Hawaii and Kono's been walking around the office wearing that stupid sweater like we're in the freaking Arctic—"

"Shut up! Just shut up, Danny, and tell your story and maybe you'll actually be done by the time we're out of here."

"Shut up, talk, do you even hear yourself? You sound like a nutcase."

Steve doesn't answer, just keeps staring out the window and waiting for this to end so he can go home and shoot himself. Then Danny's moving  toward him, leaning over the center console and Steve twists away and huddles back against the door as far as he can. 

"What? What now? I said I was fine."

"I'm just, ah, making sure the parking brake's engaged. We're on a pretty steep hill here and safety first, right?"

Danny glances down for a moment then back at Steve's face, assessing him with a calculating expression and licking his lips like he does when he's winding up for a good rant.

And Steve's tired of it; his nerves are stretched to the limit and he doesn't know how he's possibly going to last five more hours in this torture chamber.

So he snaps.

"I know we're on a hill, I know exactly where we are because I'm the one who drove us here and I heard you the first hundred times you nagged me about the brake along with everything else you don't like about my driving and yes, Danny, it's _engaged_ so can we please get on with this? Okay? Can we do that?"

Danny gives him an indulgent smile and slips back into the passenger seat. "Yes, let's get on with it, then."

His voice has dropped to an even lower, silkier register. Steve swallows and faces away into the darkness as Danny continues, his words as sweet and thick as honey.

"So, again, as I was saying, and hopefully for the last time, she's all over me like I'm the hottest thing she's ever seen and before you know it it's Barry White time, she's ready, I'm ready and here we go. She's got her arms wrapped around my neck and she's kissing my ear saying "Let's go, let's go" and I'm so hard it's painful, I'm afraid I won't even last for the main event, you remember what that's like, right? When all it takes is a touch to set you off?"

Danny pauses for a breath and wriggles around in his seat a bit and when his shoulder brushes against Steve's it's like being zapped with the taser all over again. He stiffens his spine, holds himself rigid against the contact and starts counting backward from one hundred, a technique he learned to settle his nerves before parachute jumps.

"But it's okay, I'm bringing my A-game tonight and I manage to hang on and now it's time to get down to business. I brought condoms, of course, but I'm so nervous my fingers are all goofy and I rip the first one and there's this loud snap I swear you can hear for miles, you know the sound I mean?"

"Yeah." Steve's mouth is so dry it's an effort to force out even that one strained word.

Because he can hear it and see it and feel it, all too clearly, as the scene through the windshield dissolves into the one in his imagination.

 _The rhythm of waves crashing on the shoreline, foaming white under the moonlight...the damp dark coolness under the boardwalk planks...the pungent smell of creosote mixed with the fresh clean scent of the sea...the sour-sweet taste of cheap wine coolers on his tongue...._

"But she just laughs it off, she was good that way and luckily I have a whole box of them because what do I know, so I grab another one, tear it open and almost slice my finger on that stupid foil, finally get the damn thing on, roll it down...."

 _...and Danny, naked, kneeling on the soft-smooth cotton sheet, his skin tasting of salt, his tongue stuck out a little like it does when he's concentrating, his blue eyes sharp with desire...his powerful thighs flexed and spread apart...his warm, sturdy, competent hands trembling as he...._

"Here they come!"

Danny's shout slams him back to reality, knocking his heart into his throat and shredding his daydream like tissue paper. By the time he blinks Danny's got the passenger door open and is out of the car, popping his head back in when he realizes Steve hasn't moved.

"Come on, come on, we need to get into position, let's go." Danny's in full cop mode now, vibrating with energy and shaking Steve's arm and it's all he can do to remember why they're even here.

Below them, headlights swing toward the suspect's driveway and a crack of light appears at the front door. He jerks his arm free and flaps a hand in the direction of the house.

"You go ahead, Danny. I'll just, I'll call it in and circle around to the other side. Go."

Mercifully, Danny doesn't question him before he pulls back and disappears into the night.

Steve counts to ten, heaves open the driver's door and falls out of the car, takes a few deep breaths to get the oxygen circulating and slowly limps off to his own assigned spot. All the while planning his next mission.

As soon as this nightmare ends he's booking two tickets to Newark.

And three weeks at a house on the Jersey Shore.

~~~~~

**Author's Note:**

> The kinkmeme prompt was: Steve gets hard just listening to Danny talk. Comments are always welcome!


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